


And If This is the Only Thing I Want

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it’s insane. This entire thing is insane. “Nothing,” Nick says firmly. “We’re just – I’m not going to <i>do</i> anything. We’re friends, we go out, we snog sometimes. End of story.” It’s already been pretty uncomplicated, Nick thinks, so really, it should be able to just keep going the way it’s been going without any kind of issues. </p><p>“If you say so,” Aimee says, and if she sounds doubtful, or mocking, or like she’s humoring him Nick chooses to ignore it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And If This is the Only Thing I Want

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to mediaville for the amazing beta and crucios for the fantastic beta and britpick! any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

It’s the bloody snogging question that starts the whole thing. 

When Nick thinks back on it (which he tries not to do too often, but sometimes…well, sometimes he just can’t help himself, all right?) he realizes that everything between him and Harry had been going fine, meandering along at its own little pace and then the snogging question came up. Harry had hardly seemed fazed by it; he smirked a little and laughed when everyone made such a big bloody fuss over it, but the rest of the night went by without so much of a hitch and Nick didn’t think twice about it once the moment had passed. 

It’s not until they’re back at Nick’s flat late that night eating cold leftover noodles from the takeaway containers that Harry brings it up.

“So, everyone that was there, yeah?” Harry says literally out of nowhere. They hadn’t been talking; they weren’t in the middle of a conversation. Nick has actually grown accustomed to Harry’s bizarre speech patterns by now, but this one is confusing.

“What?”

“Tonight,” Harry says. He finishes the container of food he’s holding and crosses the kitchen to toss it in the rubbish bin. Nick puts his food down because Harry is acting strange – or, at least, stranger than usual – and he wants to have his full bearings for this conversation, whatever it turns out to be. “When you got that question about who in the room you’d snogged. It was pretty much everyone there, yeah?”

Nick scrunches his head and thinks. Because there were a lot of people there, that was for sure, but, “Mostly, yeah,” he says and nods. “A good portion at least.”

Harry grunts a little. He’s wandering around Nick’s kitchen picking things up and putting them down at random. Nick’s keys wind up next to the toaster. His oven mitt is now next to the tea kettle. 

“All right then,” Harry finally says. He yanks the beanie off his head and shakes his hair around a bit and Nick honestly still has no idea what he’s getting at. “Do me.”

Nick waits a beat. “Do you,” he says flatly. 

“Yeah.” Harry raises his chin. He looks stubborn and determined and ridiculously sexy. Never let it be said that Nick has unattractive friends. “You and me have never so—have at it. Add me to the list.”

And oh. Isn’t this interesting. “Jealous, young Harold?” Nick teases. He’s guessing that the way Harry’s cheeks and throat flush hot and pink is all the answer he needs, and all at once Nick is reminded of just how _fond_ he is of Harry. “Don’t be a twat,” he finally says. “We don’t have to snog.”

“But we do.” Harry’s right there now, right in Nick’s space. He crowds Nick against the counter and it’s charming, almost; Harry’s like a disgruntled puppy whose favorite chew toy has been taken away. “Just. Come on, Nick,” he wheedles, and Nick has never been one to say no to an invitation like that. 

He slides his fingers around the back of Harry’s neck and into his hair and tugs his head forward, pressing their lips together and kissing him chastely. Harry makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat and Nick grins because he’s not going to let Harry boss him around, so he kisses him lightly one last time and goes to pull back. 

“All right, love? I should think that will do it.”

And for a split second Nick thinks that it’s over, finished, but then Harry is pushing up on his toes and crowding into Nick’s space and _kissing_ him, and Nick nearly hits the floor. Because this— this is a real _kiss_.

Harry’s hands are tight on Nick’s shoulders and he doesn’t wait, doesn’t give Nick a split second even to think before he’s licking into Nick’s mouth, slick and hot and dirty and Nick is kissing him back. Nick’s kissed a lot of people in his life – a _lot_ a lot – and even he can appreciate Harry’s technique, the low sounds he’s making as he tilts Nick’s head to the side to try and kiss him even deeper, as if there were a way to crawl inside Nick’s chest and kiss him from the inside out Harry would do it. 

When they pull apart Harry’s eyes are shining and his mouth is quirked in a grin and Nick smiles back at him easily. “Happy now?” Nick asks. His voice is a little scratchy and rough but he’s fine with it. It’s nothing a quick glass of wine on the couch won’t heal. 

“Very,” Harry says. He curls his fingers around Nick’s wrist and pulls him into the living room where they fall onto the couch, a loose sprawl of arms and legs to watch the telly until Harry is snoring softly and Nick has to untangle himself to make his way to bed. 

Nick sleeps fine that night and so does Harry if the way he’s smiling at Nick from in front of Nick’s cooker the next morning as he fixes breakfast is anything to go by, and things are great and fine and terrific for so long that Nick doesn’t expect it at _all_ when one day they’re not. 

Bloody snogging question.

*

It doesn’t come up again for a few weeks because they’re both busy so the amount of time they get together sometimes dwindles. Nick goes to Ibiza with Aimee and Harry goes to Germany and then they get together when the morning show starts and everything is perfectly normal. Nick didn’t think there were going to be any weird feelings or anything because it’s him and _Harry_ and neither of them are strangers to snogging someone for little to no reason at the end of the night and he’s glad when he’s proven right.

It’s a quiet Saturday and he and Harry are at Nick’s flat, making dinner and watching X Factor when it happens again. Nick’s chopping up a red pepper for whatever Harry is cooking and Harry’s stood at the cooker, sliding butter and garlic and onions into a sizzling pan on the hob. Nick moves into his space with the plate of peppers and Harry takes them and grins, and kisses Nick soundly on the mouth before sliding them into the pan as well. 

Nick blinks, because that was— different.

Harry doesn’t even react though, and Nick’s left to feel like he’s probably making too big of a deal over nothing. So Harry kissed him, so what? They’ve kissed a thousand times before (but never like _that_ , his brain points out unhelpfully. Nick asks his brain to kindly fuck off) so it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s _not_ a big deal. Or, at least that’s what Nick tells himself for the next few minutes while he’s rinsing off the cutting board and plates they’ve stacked up in the sink. It always baffles him how many _things_ Harry uses when he cooks.

“Y’all right?” Nick hears Harry ask as he scrubs out the inside of his biggest mixing bowl.

“Sure,” Nick says. 

“Then c’mere,” Harry says. He slides his hand over Nick’s hip and turns him around so his back is against the sink. Nick barely has time to register Harry’s small smile, or the way his cheeks are flushed with color before he’s leaning in and kissing Nick soundly, his body fitting into all the angles and spaces of Nick’s and his tongue pushing steady and sure into Nick’s mouth. 

And it’s bloody amazing, _again_ , and that’s irritating in a way because while Nick enjoys having friends who he can get off with at any given time, he didn’t think he’d been looking to add Harry to the list. Nick has always had his friends that he can go out and get pissed with and then bring home and fuck until all hours of the morning, and then there were his _friend_ friends, who he was _friends_ with and who were too important to mess things up about with nonsense like snogging and orgasms. It never really thrilled him to put Harry in the second category because Harry is fit as fuck, but Nick did put him there because, well, because he’s _Harry_. 

Fortunately for Nick, Harry seems to be making a new category all for himself. 

Harry kisses like he does everything – confident and thorough – and that includes the way his tongue licks into Nick’s mouth and how tight his hands are in Nick’s hair and the way he pulls Nick away from the counter to press against his body more. Harry’s head is tilted up and Nick finally gets his bearings and yanks Harry’s head back by his hair and gives as good as he’s getting because there’s no way he’s going to be upstaged by a little shit popstar in the middle of his kitchen, and that just makes Harry laugh against Nick’s mouth, a happy puff of air that he chases with his lips. 

“You’re going to burn my dinner,” Nick says as he pulls back and flicks off the heat on the hob. “I didn’t ask you here to surprise snog me in my kitchen, mate.”

Harry scrunches up his eyebrows. “I don’t actually think you asked me here at all. I think I just showed up.”

“Like usual,” Nick teases. He rolls his eyes a little as Harry grabs new plates from the cabinet over his head and starts plating whatever concoction he came up with this time for dinner. 

“Grab the wine,” Harry says, and while Nick is pulling out two glasses and a bottle of white from the refrigerator Harry passes him again with their plates in his hands and kisses Nick one more time on the mouth. “I’ll get the telly set up.”

Nick watches him walk out of the kitchen and it takes a second for him to feel the stupid smile that’s stretching across his face. He’s glad Harry’s already in the living room, though, because if he’d seen it he’d never stop taking the piss. 

*

It kind of goes on from there. 

They kiss in Nick’s kitchen and living room and one day Nick drags him down the hallway so hard that Harry knocks down a picture of Nick’s mum and sister that was hanging on the wall. Nick goes to Harry’s new place and Harry shoves him around his empty kitchen, the line of Harry’s brand new counters digging into his back as Harry presses their lips together and licks over the stubble of Nick’s chin. 

They kiss hard and fast and slow and sweet. Nick is starting to get addicted to Harry’s mouth, the soft noises he makes when Nick pulls on his hair or scratches his fingers over Harry’s scalp, and Harry’s no slouch, pressing his fingers into Nick’s shoulders and hips and curling tightly around his wrists. 

They meet up night after night, after Harry is done with his photoshoots and interviews and promotions and they go out to dinner, and then they sit in the car in Nick’s driveway snogging like two horny teenagers and it’s good, it’s amazing, it’s bloody fantastic, and Nick is trying to just roll with it but it’s also a little ridiculous. Harry at least has an excuse, after all, he _is_ a horny teenager, but Nick— Nick should know better or be able to control himself a little more. He’s the grown up here. He’s supposed to be setting an example. 

“Setting an example,” Aimee says, clapping her hands gleefully. They’re out to breakfast and she’s far too put together and bright for half nine on a Sunday. Nick hates her for it kind of a lot. “If that’s not the best bloody thing I’ve heard all day. An example for what, Grimmy, how to properly slag about? Because I think Harry’d had a good start to that already on his own.”

“Piss off,” Nick says, and pulls off pieces of his cheese danish to throw at her head. Sometimes he wonders why he hangs out with any of his friends ever. They’re all terrible. “I just. I didn’t expect this with Harry.”

Aimee rolls her eyes. “Well then you’re even thicker than I’d given you credit for.”

Nick is confused. “What?”

“Oh, please.” Aimme rips open five packets of sugar and dumps them into her tea one at a time. “Harry’s been making moon eyes at you for months now,” she says. Nick goes to protest but Aimee just stomps on his foot under the table and shushes him. “Shut up. You’re just as bad about him. What amazes me is that you’re bad at it _and_ stupid.”

Nick feels himself frown. “You know, you are _actually_ a terrible person,” he says finally coming to the realization. “I can’t believe it took me this long to see it but there it is; there’s the truth. You’re _truly_ horrible.”

Aimee beams. “I’m fucking fantastic,” she says, “And if you think that Harry’s been hanging around you and the studio for all these months just for your charming fucking wit you’re even dumber than I thought. You’re only problem should be deciding what to do about it,” she finishes with a shrug, “Not the fact that it’s happening.”

Nick rolls his eyes and pushes his food away. Aimee takes it off his plate and grins at him brightly as she takes a huge bite. “So,” she says around a mouthful of food. “What are you going to do about it?”

And it’s insane. This entire thing is insane. “Nothing,” Nick says firmly. “We’re just – I’m not going to _do_ anything. We’re friends, we go out, we snog sometimes. End of story.” It’s already been pretty uncomplicated, Nick thinks, so really, it should be able to just keep going the way it’s been going without any kind of issues. 

“If you say so,” Aimee says, and if she sounds doubtful, or mocking, or like she’s humoring him Nick chooses to ignore it. 

*

“Well that was seventeen,” Matt says from behind Nick’s chair. Nick adjusts the levels and lets the advert he’s playing fill the room before he spins in his chair and slides the headphones off his ears.

“What was that?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “So far it’s been only seventeen times that you’ve said the words one and direction on the air.”

“Well yay!” Nick says. He pumps his fist in the air and does a small dance in his seat. “That’s better, right?” He knows Matt had been kidding about the One Direction references but really, they’re _popular_ and _current_ and sometimes Nick thinks that Finchy just needs to go out and suck a dick to lighten up or something. 

“Considering we’ve only been on the air forty-five minutes, not really,” Matt drones. Nick flaps his hand and ignores him. His phone is buzzing in his pocket anyway and he digs it out and grins when he sees Harry’s cheesy picture and a text flash onto the screen. 

_only 17 so far.. youre slacking. Xx_

Nick laughs and covers his mouth. _I cant believe youre listening this early..is the life of a popstar not all its cracked up to be??? Xx_

Matt is waving his hands over his head to signal the end of the ad break and Nick segues into the new Rihanna song to give him a few extra minutes to talk to Harry. Not that he misses him (all right, not that he misses him _much_ ) but Harry’s been gone for close to ten days and is due back this afternoon and Nick never expects to hear from him this early in the morning. 

Nick hates to admit how much he misses Harry when he goes away because he knows this is Harry’s job and life and it’s only going to get more and more hectic as time goes on for him, but still. They spend so much time together when Harry is here that Nick feels like he spends the first three days after Harry leaves in some kind of bizarre withdrawal state. 

_niall snores and I want to come home so I’m up early_

Nick presses the heel of his hand against his chest and tries to ignore the dull ache that’s throbbing behind his breastbone. The Rihanna song is coming to the end and he has to get back on the air soon if the purplish color Finchy’s face is turning is any indication, so he types quickly, _come to mine when you get in xxx_

_ok xxx_ Harry sends back a beat later, and Nick smiles when he cuts in after the song and proceeds to say the words one and direction thirty eight more times by the time the show’s over.

*

Nick goes home after the morning show and tries to nap but he’s too keyed up to relax much so he winds up randomly dusting things instead. He rearranges his DVDs by title and cleans under the couch and wipes down the shelves in the refrigerator and he’s about two steps away from sorting out his sock drawer when he hears the thud of a car door slamming outside his and then a soft knock at the door of his flat. 

He slams the drawer closed and shouts out, “Coming!” which is dumb – why is he acting so dumb? – but then he doesn’t care much because he’s opening the door and Harry is standing there, rumpled and sleepy looking and still somehow managing to smile at Nick past the lines around his eyes and Nick can’t really stop himself. He grabs Harry’s bag and pulls Harry into his flat behind it and then kicks the door closed and kisses Harry hard on the mouth. 

Harry whimpers a little and drops whatever he was holding in his hand to slide his fingers up under Nick’s shirt, his fingers rough and calloused against Nick’s skin. Nick’s head is pounding, all he can hear running thorough his brain is a steady loop of, _you’re home_ , and _I missed you_ and _I want you_ and god, this is not – Nick was never expecting to feel this way but here he is, pressed against Harry Styles in his doorway and wishing they had the kind of friendship where they traded blowjobs and not just kisses. 

“All right?” Harry says, voice thick and soft as he pulls back. He’s got sleepy bags under his eyes and his skin is pale with fatigue. Nick knows he should just let Harry come in and go take a nap but instead he finds himself pulling Harry after him and settling them both onto the couch with his arm around Harry’s shoulder, asking him a hundred questions about his trip. 

“It was good, yeah,” Harry says. His voice is slower than usual. “Just a lot, you know? M’just—“

“Tired, sure,” Nick interrupts. “Do you want to have a lie down? Or—“

“You have last week’s Next Great Baker taped?” Harry asks, and Nick laughs and digs the remote out of the cushions. Harry makes it to the first ad break before he’s snoring on the couch curled up under Nick’s arm and Nick just brushes the hair back from his forehead and lets him sleep. 

*

“Come on, just let me come with you,” Harry wheedles. It’s half four in the morning and Nick can barely see straight let along argue with Harry about going with him to the station for his show. After Harry woke up the night before Nick ordered takeaway and they watched more nonsense on the telly and drank some wine and kissed for about an hour before they were both tired enough for bed. Nick left Harry on the couch with a pile of duvets and pillows but now it’s early – insanely early and Harry is standing in Nick’s bedroom in nothing but a pair of boxers and trying to convince Nick it’s a good idea for Harry to go to the station with him. 

“It’s so early though,” Nick says. “Don’t you want to sleep?”

“I’m done sleeping,” Harry argues and shakes his head so his curls go flying. “I’ve slept so much since yesterday I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again. Plus I miss Finchy.”

Nick snorts. “I kind of doubt he’s missed you,” he mutters. 

“Hey!” Harry frowns. “He loves me. I’m a darling.”

“You’re a pain in the arse is what you are,” Nick tells him, but he knows that when Harry is looking at him like that and smiling Nick will pretty much do whatever Harry wants. The worst part is that Harry knows it too. “I’m leaving in twenty,” Nick tells him, and Harry cheers and pumps his fist in the air and he’s honestly the most ridiculous person Nick’s ever met. “Be ready!” he shouts as Harry tears off toward the bathroom. “And I’m not waiting for you to make your hair all pretty before we leave, superstar!”

“Piss off!” Harry shouts back, and Nick leans back into his pillows and laughs. 

*

Finchy _does_ miss Harry, which is actually the worst part of the whole thing. When they get to the station and walk in he’s all ready to give Nick an earful of crap about something it looks like, but then he spots Harry coming in behind him, a cardboard tray of to-go cups of tea and Matt’s grabbing Harry in a hug and slapping his back like they’re long lost mates. 

“Hey, Harry, y’all right?” Matt asks. “Haven’t seen you around much.”

“Yeah, well, the morning show is _early_ , mate,” Harry says around a laugh. Nick watches Harry and Matt talk as he sets his things up for the morning; his tea and his phone and notes and it always amazes him how easily Harry fits into every space in Nick’s life no matter how big or small the size. He’s friends with Nick’s friends and gets along with his family and goes with him to his job and it’s comfortable and normal and almost nothing special except for how special it actually _is_.

It’s just like old times, as Nick gets started. He sits on one chair and Harry sits on another and every time Nick goes to talk or introduce a song or interview someone Harry’s tossing bits of paper or tissues or rubbish at him. Nick laughs more than he has the entire time he’s been doing the show and it feels more like it used to at night time when they used to do this before going out and getting pissed and passing out at Nick’s flat, but this time it’s bright and early in the morning and the longer the show goes on the faster Harry seems to fade.

He moves from his chair to the couch and by the time Nick is signing off for the day he looks over to find Harry snoring quietly, his mouth hanging open and his shirt rucked up around his belly. 

Nick hates to wake him but he doesn’t much fancy sitting around the station all day, so he shakes Harry awake gently, grinning down at him as Harry blinks sleepily. 

“Fuck,” Harry says quietly. “Sorry. I passed out.”

“Well the life of a rockstar is trying, or so I’ve heard,” Nick says around a smile. He brushes the hair back from Harry’s forehead and Harry smiles up at him and it makes him look so young Nick’s breath catches. Before he can think better of it Harry is dragging him down and brushing his lips over Nick’s and Nick breathes out and kisses him back before pulling him up. 

“Come on,” he says quietly. “Up. I’ll feed you.”

“Yeah?” Harry perks up a little at that. “Can we go to that place with the big sandwiches that I like?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, fine. Sandwiches. If that’s what a fancy popstar like you wants that’s what you’ll get.”

 

*  
They go out to a new club that night and meet up with Pix and Henry. Nick gets everyone drinks and then talks to Pixie while Harry and Henry get into some kind of ridiculous conversation about eggs? Petrol? Nick misses the beginning of the conversation and by the time he decides to join in he’s so confused he just gives up. 

“M’gonna go get some drinks,” Nick shouts over the thump of the pounding bass. Harry flicks his fringe out of his eyes and grins at him, waving his empty glass in the air. 

“Get me one?”

“Aye aye, captain,” Nick says with a mock salute. Harry laughs and flips him off before turning back to Henry and leaning in close to whatever Henry is saying against his ear. 

The bar is crowded and it takes a minute for Nick to shoulder his way through. He tries to catch the barman’s eye and then starts waving his empty glass over his head but it’s not until Pixie sidles up under his arm and whistles loudly that the barman even glances in their direction.

“Pix!” the bloke shouts. His mouth curves into a familiar grin and he ignores the rest of the crowd to come over and kiss her on the cheek. “What’ll you have?”

Pixie rattles off a list of drinks for herself and Nick and the others, and the barman nods before turning to Nick and giving him a slow once over.

“And for you, mate?” he asks and it’s so blatantly a come on that Nick almost smiles. The thing is, the bloke is quiffed and blond and has the body of a fashion model. His features are sharp and pretty and Nick has no problem at all imagining what he’d look like, naked and spread out on his hands and knees in Nick’s bed. At any other time that’d be exactly what Nick would be aiming for – trying to see how many drinks he’d need the both of them to have before they wound up drunk and naked and sweaty somewhere – but tonight he just smiles and shakes his head a little.

“I’m good, mate, thanks,” he says. The bloke grins and nods and backs away to make their drinks and from beside him Pixie laughs and claps so gleefully Nick is worried she might actually sprain something and hurt herself. 

“Oh my god,” she screeches. “Aimee told me but I had _no idea_ it was this bad. This is fucking brilliant!”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Have you hit your head on something, darling?” he asks dryly. “Because you’re not making any sense.”

“Oh, right. _I’m_ not making any sense,” Pixie says wryly. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening here, yes.”

Nick huffs a bit because honestly, why has he never realized how awful his friends all are? “All right, I’ll bite,” he says and takes a sip of his whiskey. “What is it that you think is happening here?”

Pixie stares at him a little too long to be comfortable and Nick had almost forgotten how inconvenient it is to have friends that know you this well. The music is still pumping loud through the club and Nick can feel it vibrate in his fingers where they’re wrapped around the glass all the way down to his feet on the floor. He takes a longer swallow of his drink and it burns his throat on the way down. 

“You,” she tells him, “And how you’re so far gone on Harry that you won’t even think about going home with someone else. It’s sweet, Nick, really.”

And that’s – that’s not it. Nick shakes his head and is trying to think of what to say to convince her that it’s not like that between Harry and him, not really, but then there’s a warm body pressing against his back and Harry’s arms curl over Nick’s shoulders and Pixie just gives him a knowing wink and turns to talk to Henry as Harry noses up under Nick’s ear. 

“Nick,” Harry says loud enough to be heard over the music. Nick can feel the curve of Harry’s grin against the back of his neck; his voice sends a shiver racing down Nick’s spine. “How about we get spectacularly pissed tonight?”

Nick spares a second to think how terrible an idea this probably is before nodding and knocking his drink back and waving the empty glass over his head for another. 

*

It _is_ a terrible idea, if by terrible Nick means bloody fucking brilliant. Nick drinks a truly ridiculous amount whiskey and Harry drinks just as much vodka and together they drink a whole lot of tequila, licking salt off each other’s skin and sucking on sticky limes. The music is thumping and after a while Harry pulls Nick onto the dance floor, his fingers hooked through Nick’s belt loops as he pulls him closer, their thighs brushing as they dance and sway.

Harry is flushed red and gorgeous. He’s sweaty and panting and pushing the hair back from his face, his temples glistening and damp. Nick leans in to whisper against Harry’s ear but winds up setting his teeth in Harry’s earlobe instead because it’s so pretty and there and Nick wants to _bite_ him, just a little. 

“ _Nick_.” Harry pulls him in closer and drops his head against Nick’s chest. “Can we—let’s go back to yours, yeah?”

And god fucking dammit, Nick should say no, because he’s not stupid and he knows what’s going to happen if he takes Harry back to his. This thing between them – whatever it is – is definitely not going to stay on the mostly innocent side if he gets Harry in his flat tonight, but right now Nick doesn’t think that’s such a bad thing anyway. Then Harry leans in and drags his teeth lightly over Nicks collarbone and Nick thinks _fuck it_. He’s a grown man and Harry’s a big boy and they can both make their own decisions and this is apparently the decision they’re making. 

“Yeah,” Nick says, “Let’s go,” and he barely takes the time to toss some notes on the bar for their drinks before he’s pulling Harry outside of the club and into the cool night air. 

The get a cab right away and Nick spends most of the ride silently cursing Harry for plastering himself to the opposite side of the seat and thanking him for it, because Nick is desperate for Harry’s mouth again but he knows deep down that the back of a cab in the middle of the night possibly isn’t the best place for that to happen. They pull up in front of Nick’s flat shortly after and Harry hands the driver some money and then they’re stumbling up the steps, Harry pressed close to Nick’s back as Nick fumbles with the keys and gets them inside. 

The door is barely closed and Harry is on him, his hands in Nick’s hair and his mouth hot and wet and kissing Nick’s cheek and chin. He licks into Nick’s mouth and groans deep in his throat and Nick can’t stop the desperate noise than rips through him or the way he drags Harry impossibly closer.

Nick doesn’t even feel drunk anymore, is the thing, or he feels drunker than ever, he can barely tell. It’s not liquor drunk, he feels _Harry_ drunk, like every touch of Harry’s hands or mouth is making his head spin and his brain go foggy. Harry tangles their tongues together and then he’s pulling back, sliding down and fumbling with Nick’s belt and zip and mumbles, “I want—I’m gonna suck you, all right?” against Nick’s thigh. 

Nick slams his fist back against the wall because honestly, who would be able to say no to that? If there’s a person alive on the planet who could say no to a drunk and horny Harry Styles who’s kneeling at their feet, well, they’re a much stronger person than Nick is.

He does manage to ask, “How pissed are you?” 

Harry looks up from beneath his fringe and smiles at him like the filthiest angel Nick has ever seen. “Not too pissed to be fucking amazing,” he tells him, and Nick is done.

“Yeah,” Nick breathes. “Come on, then.”

Harry shoves Nick’s trousers and pants down his thighs and Nick has a split second to think that they’re still in their outside clothes – they still have their sodding _jackets_ on – and Harry’s already on his knees, one hand cupping Nick’s balls and the other guiding Nick’s cock into his mouth. 

From the first touch of Harry’s tongue Nick’s eyes nearly roll back in his head, and he bites down on a knuckle to keep from saying all the terrible things out loud that are flying through his brain. Things about how amazing Harry’s mouth is, and how goddamn _good_ he is at this. He swallows Nick down, sucking hard and grunting a little and part of Nick never wants it to stop but the other part wants to haul him up and demand that Harry tell Nick why he’s so good at this, and who he’s done it to before and then make him promise he’ll never do it again with anyone other than Nick. 

Just the very _idea_ of that – of Harry being his to do this with, of the two of them being able to do things like this all the time has Nick instantly on edge, the slow burn of his orgasm rolling through his blood and heating his skin. He slides his fingers into Harry’s hair and tugs and that just makes Harry groan louder, suck harder, and Nick barely has time to choke out a warning before Harry is pulling back and jacking him off, Nick’s come hitting his belly and catching the corner of Harry’s mouth. 

Harry licks his lips and grins up at him wickedly. “Nice,” he says, and honestly, Nick has had enough. 

“Up, up,” Nick urges, yanking Harry up by the arm and dragging him down the hall to his bedroom. His trousers tangle around his knees and Nick pauses long enough to kick them off and send them skidding down the hall. “Get your bloody kit off, I can’t believe—“ he laughs and it sounds slightly hysterical, even to his own ears. “We’ve still got our _jackets_ on, for the love of the queen. Get undressed, Harry, Jesus.”

Harry laughs and strips off faster than Nick has ever seen, and he’s just— he’s goddamn _gorgeous_. Nick can barely stop looking at him. 

“All right?” Harry asks, and he sounds almost hesitant and Nick can’t have that, not when Harry is possibly one of the most amazing blokes Nick’s ever had the good fortune to sleep with. He crosses the room and kisses Harry and Harry practically melts against him, his arms winding around Nick’s neck and holding on as Nick walks them over to the bed and topples them both down on top of the duvet. 

Nick lays Harry out and kisses over his chest, sucking at his collarbones and biting down on whatever skin he can. Every touch has Harry gasping out Nick’s name, his fingers carding through Nick’s hair and holding him down when Nick get to a particularly good spot. Nick leans up long enough to fumble in his bedside table drawer for a bottle of lube and Harry’s eyes go dark when he sees it and he kisses Nick desperately, hooking his ankle around the back of Nick’s calf and pulling him in. 

“Please,” Harry whines. Nick tries to slow down, wants to calm Harry a little, but Harry is frantic and desperate, his skin hot as a fever. “Oh god, I want you to fuck me, Nick, _please_.”

Nick screws his eyes shut and breathes deep, because—“I can’t, Harry, not yet, I just—“

“Then touch me,” Harry whines. He bats at Nick’s chest and shoves him back and opens his legs shamelessly. Nick can barely look at him, he’s so bloody beautiful, and the thought of getting to touch him, getting to kiss his skin and suck him off and slick up his fingers to press inside him—

“Okay,” Nick says thickly. “Just. Just hold still, yeah?”

Harry nods, his hair spilling across Nick’s pillows, and Nick flicks the cap and slicks his fingers and trails them over Harry’s dick and down, under his balls up against the crack of Harry’s arse. 

“Oh god,” Harry says as Nick presses against him lightly, gently enough that Harry could move away if he wanted, but instead Harry reaches down and curls his fingers around Nick’s wrist, guiding his hand up so he’s pressed tight right against Harry’s hole. “Please, come on, do it.”

Nick screws his eyes shut because he can barely watch Harry and the way he’s so desperate for Nick; the way he wants him so much. Nick has been with more than his fair share of blokes in his life but he doesn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so beautifully fucked out, so responsive to every small touch as Harry is right now. 

As soon as Nick slides his finger inside Harry is curling up off the bed, forcing him in deeper and Nick can’t breathe, can hardly think before he’s pulling back and sliding in with two. Harry is hot and soft and so goddamn _tight_ and Nick can’t stop watching his face, the way his cheeks and chest and throat are flushed a deep, hot pink. Harry’s eyes are shut and he’s almost choking on air and every time Nick touches a different part of his skin Harry curls around him, his dick looking painfully hard where it’s lying against his belly. 

“Come on,” Nick says quietly. He bites a little at Harry’s arm and pushes his fingers deeper, curling them a little and Harry cries out. “Come on, babe, do it. You can do it for me, yeah?” and Harry curses and moans and comes over his stomach while Nick leans in for his mouth, kissing him through it. 

Nick waits for Harry to relax before sliding his fingers out and wiping them on the corner of the duvet and then he shifts them around until they’re under the covers and Harry is curled up under Nick’s arm, his breath wet and hot against Nick’s skin. 

“I’ll make breakfast tomorrow,” Harry says, and Nick kisses the top of his head and falls asleep before he can answer. 

*

When Nick wakes up in the morning Harry is indeed making breakfast. He’s stood at Nick’s cooker in one of Nick’s black button down shirts and nothing else, his legs skinny and bare and his toes curling against the cold tile. Nick slips up from behind him and Harry turns to smile at him sleepily. 

“Eggs okay?” Harry asks. 

Nick doesn’t really care for eggs and Harry knows it but there’s probably nothing much else in Nick’s fridge so he says, “Yeah, eggs are great. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Harry leans forward and kisses him until the butter makes a suspicious hiss in the pan and then he shoves Nick away and laughs as he makes them breakfast. 

*

Nick thinks that maybe he expected things to change after he and Harry started doing—whatever it is that they’re doing, but it really never does. Harry still comes to his flat to sit on the couch and watch the telly, and he still comes to Nick’s job to bring him food and sit in his chair and annoy everyone around them. They go out at night and wake up in the morning and things are as good as they ever were but maybe now even better because Nick gets to know what Harry looks like when he comes and that’s not something that he’s ever going to forget. 

He knows what Harry looks like spread out on his bed, the sheets rucked up under his hands and knees as Nick opens him with his fingers and then his tongue, Harry babbling and cursing until Nick pushes inside him sweet and slow. He knows what Harry looks like with his mouth around Nick’s cock, and his hands on Nick’s chest, and his eyes blown wide with lust, pupils so huge and black Nick can barely see any green around them.

Nick knows how much Harry likes to laugh during sex. How he tells Nick so easily when things feel good and when they don’t, and Nick thinks that comes with the fact that they were so close before this all started that they skipped the awkward dating phase and went right into the comfortable fucking around phase and Nick loves it. He loves how stupid Harry can be; how silly and light hearted and _fond_ , and Nick doesn’t know how he got so lucky that he gets to have this – that he gets Harry as his best friend and the one that he fucks at the same time – but whatever it is that he’s doing he plans on keeping doing it because if there’s one thing he knows it’s that he wants to keep whatever this is that he has with Harry as long as he can. 

It’s exactly then that everything goes spectacularly to shit.

*

They’re out at a pub on one of Harry’s rare night’s off, and it’s just the two of them out for a few drinks before heading back to Nick’s for the night. The music isn’t terribly loud and he and Harry are sat on two barstools but they’re pushed together as close as they can go so their thighs and calves and ankles touch and brush against each other every time they move. 

Harry’s leaned forward sipping his drink and Nick has an arm loose around Harry’s shoulders as he drinks his whiskey, and when someone taps him on the back he’s all set to give them a look and send them on their way until he sees who it is and a huge grin splits his face. 

“Alan!” Nick booms. He slides off his stool and hugs Alan tightly because, “It’s been years, mate! How have you been?”

Alan beams back at him. “I’m good!” he exclaims and then shakes his head. “My god, Nick bloody Grimshaw. How have you been?”

Nick laughs a little and nods, starting to fill Alan in when he notices Harry watching them both a little curiously. 

“Oh, sorry, Harry,” Nick says gesturing between him and Alan. “This is Alan. We worked together a long, long time ago, right, mate?”

“Ages,” Alan says, and shakes his head. “And look at you now, yeah?”

“Bah,” Nick mutters and rolls his eyes. “It’s not big deal, I’m just a spectacularly famous morning show host, right? It ain’t no big thang,” he trails off and they all laugh. Harry clears his throat a little and slides just a bit more into Nick’s space and oh, this is new. “Alan and I haven’t seen each other in about a hundred years, I think, yeah?”

“At _least_ a hundred,” Alan adds. 

Nick smiles easily. “At least. Anyway, Alan, this is Harry, my, erm—“ and he flounders for just a split second because he’s never had to do this before. He’s never had to introduce Harry to anyone; Harry’s always just _been_ there. So Nick does what he thinks is best and plays it safe. “This is my mate, Harry,” He finishes. “We’ve been friends for ages.”

It gets awkwardly quiet for a second before Alan is sticking out a hand for Harry to shake and Harry shakes back because he’s _Harry_ , but Nick can see the flush high up on his cheeks and the way he’s biting down on his bottom lip. 

“Right,” Harry says. His voice is rough and he doesn’t look at Nick as he drops Alan’s hand and slides back onto his seat. “We’re mates.”

Alan stays for a few more minutes and Harry’s not rude but he’s not overly talkative either, and Nick’s stomach twists because he doesn’t know for certain but he feels like something is wrong and that it’s most likely his fault. 

Alan leaves and Harry is pleasant enough when he says goodbye, but when Nick goes to sit back down Harry stands up and says, “I’m going to the loo. I’ll be back,” and walks off without another word. 

Nick sips his drink. He spins his glass in circles. He waits for a few minutes for Harry to come back and then he digs his phone out of his pocket and texts Aimee to say hello but Aimee’s either out or ignoring him because by the time Harry returns she hasn’t texted back and Nick shoves his phone in his pocket.

“So I think I’m going to go to mine tonight,” Harry says quietly. Nick stares at him and Harry’s eyes are dull, the edges of his mouth tipped down into a frown. 

“Why?” Nick asks. “I thought we were going to go back to mine and watch some telly? I taped yesterday’s episode of Nigella. She made a wicked omelet I think you’d really love.”

Harry laughs at that but it’s quiet and sad, and Nick doesn’t know what to do, he’s so confused right now. He pays their tab and walks just behind Harry as he leaves the pub and leads them to Nick’s car in the carpark. 

The ride home is eerily quiet. Nick can’t remember there ever being this much silence with him and Harry from the day they first met. If there’s ever been anyone Nick’s never had trouble making conversation with it’s Harry, and the fact that it’s so awkward now kills him.  
He pulls up in front of Harry’s flat and turns the car off but neither of them move. 

“So,” Nick says when the silence is starting to be too much. “You all right?”

Harry laughs quietly. “Yeah, I just—“ He chews on his thumb and looks out the passenger window. Nick wishes Harry would look at him instead but that doesn’t seem to be the case. “I’m just stupid I guess,” Harry finally says. 

And Nick can’t stand it, he hates hearing Harry sound so defeated. “Hey,” he says and reaches out to curls his fingers around Harry’s wrist and tugs a little. “What do you mean? You’re not stupid; stupid about what?”

Harry just shakes his head though, and Nick is sure he’s going to ignore the question, blow the whole thing off, but he doesn’t. He turns to look at Nick head on, their eyes locking, and Nick is once again amazed at how brave Harry is. 

“I just thought that it was more than this,” he says quietly. “You know; you and me. More than mates or something, but, I don’t know.” He laughs softly and Nick’s heart breaks. “I guess it’s not.”

Nick can feel the blood rushing behind his ears. He can feel his heart thumping and his hands shakes a little so he drops Harry’s wrist and twists his fingers together in his lap. “I’ve just—,” Nick says. “I’ve never done more.”

“I know.” Harry tells him. “I haven’t either.” He takes a deep breath but his voice still shakes when he says, “But, I don’t know. I want to try.”

And if that’s not everything right there. Everything Harry wants and needs and Nick just – he doesn’t know if he physically can. He’s not as brave as Harry; he’s never pretended to be, and he just doesn’t know if he can. Twenty-eight years is a long time to first try and learn how to be a boyfriend to someone. Nick thinks maybe he’s too late. 

“I don’t know if I can,” Nick says honestly, and Harry crumples in on himself for a split second before leaning over and kissing Nick on the cheek. 

“All right,” Harry tells him. He sucks in a shuddery breath and even in the dark of the car Nick can see how watery his eyes are. “That’s fair. I just— at least I know.”

Harry opens the car door and Nick wants to stop him, wants to tell him to come back but what’s the point, really, if he can’t give Harry what he wants. In the end Harry leaves and Nick lets him, and even if he didn’t realize what was going on Nick’s not at all surprised. 

*

Nick wakes to a banging on his door and Aimee cursing her head off from outside in his hall. 

“Oi! Grimmy! Open up!”

Nick stumbles from bed and pulls on the first pair of jogging bottoms he can find because my god, how loud can she _be_? He gets to his front door and yanks his open just as she’s about to knock again and barely misses her knocking her fist against his forehead. 

“Well good morning to you too,” he says gruffly as she storms past him and into his flat. “You’re looking rather—” - he takes in her hot pink and yellow jumper and black and white striped skirt - “bright, this morning.”

“You missed breakfast,” Aimee says. She shoots him a withering glare and bangs his kettle around in the sink to fill it with water. 

“Ah.” Nick rubs a hand over his mouth. Breakfast. _Shit_. “I totally overslept, love. Sorry about that.”

“’S’Alright,” she says, ignoring him as she flicks the heat on the hob. “Harry rung me and told me he wasn’t going to be able to make it.”  
Nick nods, because right. Of course Harry wasn’t going to go to breakfast with Aimee and Pix and Henry and Gels if Nick wasn’t there. That makes sense. 

“You want to tell me why Harry called me from his flat this morning, while you’re here by yourself, after you called me from the middle of your date late night?” Aimee says. “You have any light to shed on that situation, Grimmy?”

Nick gapes a little, his mouth opening and shutting before he manages to speak. “We weren’t on a date,” he manages weakly. The minute Aimee hears him she’s crossing the room and punching him on the arm as hard as she can. “Ow!”

“You bloody were on a date, you sodding fool,” she says. The kettle is starting to heat up, the water hissing in the pot and Nick realizes he can’t look directly at her, not when her eyes are so focused on him. “Did you tell Harry you weren’t on a date? Is that why he’s not here right now?” she asks. 

Nick wants to object. He wants to tell her she’s got it all wrong and everything is perfectly fine, but in the end he can’t. He sinks down onto one of his kitchen chairs and drops his head into his hands. “He thinks—I don’t know. He thinks we were – I mean, that the two of us were—“

“He thinks you’re together, Nick, because you _are_ ,” Aimee says, and Nick shakes his head. “You can try and argue with me all you want but it’s not going to change things.”

Nick feels like he can’t look up at her, doesn’t want to know how she’s watching him, but when he does she’s looking at him fondly and she runs her fingers through his hair. 

“I’ve really made a mess of things, Aims,” Nick says. 

Aimee laughs quietly and tugs on his hair. “Well then it’s up to you to try and make them right.”

*

Harry is alone in his flat when Nick gets there. He’s in a ratty t-shirt that might be Nick’s and a pair of old jogging bottoms that have seen better days. His hair is a wreck and his eyes are tired but he still smiles when he opens the door and sees Nick on the other side. He still hugs him and kisses the side of his head and Nick realizes right then how Harry feels about him, how much he cares about him. It hits him over the head like a steel beam and Nick can’t believe he’s never seen it before. 

“So about what happened last night,” Nick starts as he walks in, but Harry waves him off. He sits on one end of the couch and fiddles with the remote until the show he was watching freezes on pause. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says, and Nick has to hand it to him; if he didn’t know Harry as well as he does he might have even believed him. “It’s good. I was just being a bit stupid, is all.”

“No, Harry, you weren’t,” Nick says. “You need to hear this.” He sits next to Harry on the couch and watches as Harry plays with a loose thread on his trousers, twisting it around until the tip of his finger goes red. “You know, Matt asked me once if I was afraid of commitment or some sort of rubbish; if that’s why I never stayed with anyone for any period of time. Did you know that?”

Harry shakes his head. “No.”

“I didn’t think so,” Nick says, quietly. “Anyway, do you know what I told him?”

Harry’s still looking down. Nick tries to catch his eye but he doesn’t look up at him, not once. “No. What?” Harry says.

Nick takes a deep breath. “I told them it wasn’t that I was afraid of it but that no one had ever offered it to me. No one—” he takes a deep breath as Harry looks up finally and catches his eye. “No one’s ever tried with me so I never tried with them. Does that make sense?”

Harry swallows and nods but he looks hopeful, a little, and when Nick moves closer and curls an arm around Harry’s shoulders Harry leans in and doesn’t pull away. “Yeah,” Harry says thickly. “Makes sense.”

“Right. So.” Nick takes a deep breath and thinks: _In for a penny, right_? “Anyway. I’m just. I’m not saying no - I’d never say no to you, Harry. I’m just saying I don’t know what to do, yeah? So—we might have to figure this out together.”

Nick’s heart is thumping so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t bang right out of his chest. He’s waiting for Harry to do something or say something – anything, really – but in the end he doesn’t say anything at all, just twists their fingers together and kicks his feet up on the coffee table as he settles deeper into Nick’s side on the couch. 

Harry grabs the remote and presses play and Nigella comes to life on the screen, beating a bowl of egg whites just like she did yesterday when Nick taped the same episode at his flat for Harry. 

“You were right, this was a good one,” Harry says, gesturing toward the screen. He pulls their hands up and kisses Nick’s knuckles, his lips lingering on the back of Nick’s hand and Nick closes his eyes, leans back and tilts their heads together. “I’ll pick up the stuff and we can try it together tomorrow, yeah?” Harry says quietly. “I think—I think I’d like to try it.”

Nick just smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Tomorrow sounds good.”

 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> this entire fic was based on this interview quote:
> 
> Matt: Do you have any phobias?  
> Grimmy: No  
> Matt: What about commitment?  
> Grimmy: I'm not afraid of it, I've just never been offered it. 
> 
> <3


End file.
